I reclined upon Ethan's velvet sofa, the rising steam from the simmering hotpot weaving delicate spirals through the air, its piquant aroma entwining with the nostalgic hum of the retro jukebox murmuring in the corner of his Lumina Square apartment.
Beyond the windowpane, New Eridu's iridescent skyline fractured into kaleidoscopic hues, casting their restless glow upon my crimson suit—neatly draped over a nearby chair.
The etheric gears within my watch pulsed faintly, a mechanical whisper to the cadence of my thoughts.
Ethan faced me from across the lacquered table, one leg carelessly crossed over the other, that familiar, insouciant grin fixed upon his face.
His eyes, dark and unflinching, met mine with practiced ease.
Too steady. Too poised.
I inhaled slowly, my chopsticks poised above the bubbling broth as though drawing a blade from its sheath.
My voice, when it emerged, was quiet—measured with the precision of a scalpel rather than the weight of accusation.
"It began with the call," I murmured, "—unexpected, after years of silence.
"A seemingly innocuous gesture, cloaked in the guise of rekindled friendship. But this is New Eridu, Ethan.
Here, nothing is ever simple, least of all goodwill."
The mention of Reed Financial's collapse hung unspoken between us like a ghost.
Old wounds seldom heal cleanly in a city that trades in ambition and ruin.
I gestured subtly toward the ornate shelving behind him. "My first clue was the masks."
Two half-masks sat among the Bangboo figurines and holo-posters of Sixth Street—one wrought in silver, its surface etched with four closed eyes, the other cast in aged bronze, marked with two.
Their craftsmanship was too unique to be collections.
Their meaning, unmistakable.
"They're not decorative," I continued.
"They're ceremonial—associated with the cults. This type is rarely found as it contains a certain amount of ether in it. Possession alone is a felony, let alone display."
Ethan's smile did not falter, but I detected the barest flicker of tension in his posture.
"The second clue," I said, "was the smell."
From the moment I had crossed the threshold, an acrid tang had clung to the air—faint, but unmistakable. Sodium hypochlorite. Bleach. A sterile, biting scent no fragrance could entirely conceal.
"It lingers in the fibres, Ethan. And yet your hands—immaculate. Your clothing—spotless. No trace of injury. That leaves only one conclusion: it wasn't your blood being scrubbed away."
The atmosphere grew still. The room, though warm, felt colder in that moment. I leaned forward, lowering my voice.
"The third clue was subtler. Your bathroom."
Passing through, I had noted the disparity in temperature—unnatural and sharply defined.
A chill that could not be attributed to faulty insulation alone.
A light knock on the wall behind the mirror had yielded a hollow resonance—too deep for a mere partition.
"There is something concealed behind that wall," I said.
"The space is too large. Too cold. Refrigerated, perhaps. Sealed."
Ethan's expression shifted, imperceptibly. The grin remained, but his eyes had sharpened, calculating now—less host, more opponent.
"And finally," I said, my tone now devoid of warmth, "you spoke of my impending vice presidency at Laurent Enterprises—a matter known only to the board and a handful of their confidants. Information that has never crossed your path. Or shouldn't have."
I set my chopsticks down with quiet finality.
"You masquerade as a middle-tier operative at ElenCore, but your reach betrays you. We both crawled from the wreckage of Reed Financial, yet only one of us ascended through legitimate means."
My gaze bored into him.
"You're not here by accident. And your success—like your invitation—was orchestrated."
Silence descended. The pot bubbled gently. The jukebox crackled through the static of some forgotten melody. Then Ethan stirred.
He plucked a slice of marbled meat from the broth and lifted it with theatrical grace, chewing slowly as though savouring more than just the flavour.
The grin lingered, but it had grown colder. More deliberate. Less man, more mask.
"What is this, then?" he said softly. "A private inquisition? Or have you taken up moonlighting as a detective between corporate ascensions?"
He swallowed, leaned forward with serpentine grace, and let the smile wither into something sharper, hungrier.
Then, in a voice so low it might have belonged to another man entirely, he whispered:
"You were always clever, my friend. But cleverness has its limits. And there are things beneath this city even your precious logic cannot untangle…"
Ethan's whisper lingered in the air like smoke—intangible, cloying, and laced with veiled menace.
Then, at last, he exhaled a soft chuckle. Not the lighthearted sound of an old friend, but something more hollow. More final.
"You're right," he said, the words slipping from his tongue with unsettling ease.
"You always had a gift for peeling back façades. I suppose I should've expected this."
He leaned back in his seat, shoulders relaxing as though a burden had been cast off.
The flickering neon from outside danced across his features, half-illuminating his face in shifting colour—one
***
Ethan leaned forward, the flicker of a lopsided grin tugging at his lips—tinged not with humour, but something darker, more frayed at the edges.
Madness, perhaps.
His eyes, once sharp and clever, now shimmered with something unhinged as he reached for a can of alcohol resting beside him.
The aluminium caught the neon light in a cold gleam, its surface beaded with condensation.
"Where do I begin?" He murmured, his voice a low rasp, weathered and worn.
The can hissed as he cracked it open, a sharp release of pressure that mirrored the tension in the room.
"It all began the day Reed Financial went up in flames."
He took a slow sip, the liquid sloshing softly within, then slumped back against the couch—its worn fabric groaning beneath his weight, as if it too bore the burden of his past.
"After that disaster, I was blacklisted. The CEO's scandal tainted all of us. No firm in New Eridu would touch me. To them, we were all accomplices."
His fingers clenched around the can, metal groaning beneath his grip.
His words were laced with bitterness, resignation wrapped in scorched pride.
Reed Financial's fall was no mere collapse—it was a cataclysm.
A gleaming monument of ambition reduced to ash and rubble.
Its marble floors once echoed with dreams; now, they served as a mausoleum to countless careers.
The city, in its frenzied chase to industrialize—its factories churning out Bangboo drones, its firms siphoning Ether like lifeblood—had spawned monsters like Reed, only to cast off their workers like broken cogs when the gears jammed.
Ethan's voice trembled, eyes fixed on some far-off place.
"There was one reason I kept going. My sister. My only family. Michael, she was so young… too young. And sick. Her body was failing—ravaged by some illness no doctor could name, much less cure."
Another sip.
This time, the can bent under his tightening fingers.
"I fought for her. Endured everything just to keep up with the treatment bills. But after the bankruptcy, the money dried up. And then…"
His voice cracked.
The can crumpled with a metallic crunch.
"She died."
The word dropped like a thunderclap—final, unforgiving.
The apartment, once warm with the scent of hotpot and nostalgia, now felt suffocating.
He stared down at the crushed can in his hand, his voice barely above a whisper.
"She held my hand when it happened. Told me it was okay… that I didn't need to worry anymore."
His eyes glistened—not with tears, but with something far more hollow.
A despair so deep it had passed beyond grief. "She was my everything. When she died, I stopped knowing why I should live."
He painted a portrait of a man adrift—drowning in debt, teetering on the edge of homelessness.
Days blurred into nights beneath New Eridu's electric skyline, where the neon mocked the broken.
"Then I met them," he said, his tone shifting. A spark lit behind his eyes, not quite hope—something hungrier.
"The Exaltists. At first, I thought they were lunatics in masks, selling fantasies with cryptic riddles."
"Did you take their offer then?" I asked, voice steady, though his story pressed down on me like a weight.
Ethan snorted, sipping from the crushed can's jagged rim.
"Not right away. I had doubts. But they offered money—absurd amounts. All I had to do was join them. Complete their missions."
His smile returned, this time sharper, more deliberate.
"I chose the money, Michael. Cleared my debts. Bought myself a future—a life where I didn't have to suffer anymore."
I leaned forward, chopsticks forgotten beside the bubbling hotpot.
Its steam curled between us like a phantom.
"And was that life worth the blood it cost?"
My words hung coldly in the air, slicing through the haze.
Ethan laughed—quiet and mirthless.
"Innocent lives?" he echoed.
"New Eridu devours innocence daily. You've seen it. People twisted into ethereals. Hollowed out. Whether they're good or bad doesn't matter—nature's eating us alive."
His voice hardened, his gaze sharpening like broken glass.
"This city's a dying thing. It's just a matter of when—not if. I chose to survive in the now."
He leaned closer, placing the can down with a deliberate clatter.
"And you're not so clean yourself, Michael. I did some digging. Your little visit to Victor Laurent. Your sudden rise to vice president at Laurent Enterprises. Suspicious timing, don't you think?"
His eyes burned with vindication.
"You used people. You most likely made shady deals yourself as well. Just like I took the Exaltists' deal."
He leaned back, arms spread as if offering absolution.
"That's why I brought you here—not just as a friend, but to offer you a choice."
I stood slowly, the weight of his confession sinking into my bones.
I retrieved my coat from the rack, the fabric damp and heavy, soaked in the city's night.
"I'll think about it," I said, the words flat, carved from stone.
The jukebox's soft melody faded into silence.
Neon bled through the window, bathing the room in synthetic glow.
I stepped into it, the door closing behind me, Ethan's voice echoing in my mind like a ghost I couldn't shake.
***
The rain had turned violent—a torrential cascade hammering down upon New Eridu's chrome arteries, as if the heavens themselves sought to drown the city in regret.
Lumina Square shimmered like a dream fractured by reality, each puddle a kaleidoscope of neon sorrow.
I drifted through the storm, directionless, my fingers clenched around a sleek Ether-infused energy can, its chilled metal digging into my skin like a silent reprimand.
Around me, a swarm of umbrellas—black as sin, red as regret, and flickering with synthetic light—bobbed in the crowd like debris caught in a river.
Overhead, holo-billboards sputtered through the downpour, their garish promotions for Bangboo mods and Sixth Street ramen dissolving into fragmented hues across my rain-soaked coat.
The crafted watch on my wrist pulsed faintly, its delicate Etheric cogs whispering of the power I'd wrenched from the Wheel of Fortune—fate's cruellest jest.
Ethan's voice still echoed within me, sharper than any blade.
I hadn't expected it to wound this deeply.
My thoughts churned with more fury than the skies above.
Was this the cost of my ascension?
The vice presidency at Laurent Enterprises, the carefully spun web with Victor, the improbable luck twisted to suit my will—had I bartered too much of myself for the illusion of control?
If I hadn't answered Ethan's call, would I still be free, blissfully caged in ignorance?
No... ignorance is the slowest poison of all.
The very fortune I'd bent to my command now offered the most crashing misfortune.
It was no longer a gift but a curse, anchoring me to the abyss yawning beneath New Eridu's glamour.
What have I become...
I spotted a bench beside a shuttered noodle cart, its frame worn and glistening beneath the rain.
I sat without grace, the cold biting through my suit, bleeding into my bones.
Overhead, the sky was nothing but a desolate canvas, vast and grey, mirroring the confusion within me.
Water streamed down my face, indistinguishable from tears, as I stared into the void.
What do I do now?
Thoughts spun like daggers.
Ethan's admission—his allegiance to the Exaltists, the ease with which he discarded innocent lives, and his invitation to join that vile syndicate—it all clawed at my conscience.
I searched for clarity, for something—anything—to ground me.
But all I found was the relentless downpour, emotionless and eternal.
Two paths had revealed themselves the moment I took his call.
The first: justice. Righteous, unforgiving. A path that would place me squarely against Ethan and the Exaltists' far-reaching tendrils—an enemy tangled deep in the city's underworld.
I'd lose everything: Project Dawn, my position, and most of all, Kaori.
The fallout would be catastrophic.
The second: pragmatism. A colder, shrewder route. My way. The one forged in shadows.
I could use Ethan—bend his betrayal, not break against it.
He would become a piece, a pawn to slot into a grander architecture. I wouldn't need to fight him; fate would take care of the rest.
A crooked smile touched my lips as I stood, the bench groaning beneath my weight.
No need for sentiment. Let fate brandish the blade—I would place it.
Ethan was the missing fragment, the key to leveraging the Exaltists without sullying my own name.
If played well, his involvement could grant me the very leverage I needed.
"I'll leave it in your hands, Belle... Wise," I murmured, barely louder than the rain.
Phaethon's proxies, still adrift without their AI Fairy, remained the perfect tools.
Let them be my scale.
The deluge intensified, but I walked on, unflinching.
The crumpled can in my fist glowed dimly before sputtering out, its neon label winking like a dying star.
And with that, I vanished into the labyrinthine night of New Eridu—no longer lost, but resolute.